


On fearing Law

by ddalmun



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Biting, Gen, Partners in Crime, Porn With Plot, argh idk what to type lmao, friends to strangers to lovers au, will tag more as chapters come out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddalmun/pseuds/ddalmun
Summary: the life of a runaway bandit leads to a circle of crime. it’s never ending, not when the guns of lawmen are constantly pointed at your back, and you’d do anything to survive the shots. Jisung walks alongside you, herding wild horses to your defense. Bang Chan gets caught in the crossfire, and suddenly the thought of turning yourself in becomes appealing.





	On fearing Law

Fear isn’t always fear—or more precisely, a fear doesn’t have to be perpetually feared. There are ways to familiarize yourself with your fear, enough that it’ll start fearing _for _you. It matures out of its dread cocoon and guards you in the form of comfort.

You were afraid of guns once, with its powerful build and deadly temperament. You thought it sang a melody too violent for your ears, ringing chaotically in your head like a song you wish you could forget. To approach one would be like standing before a brandishing thief, barrel pointed directly at your sternum. Even when your family and friends offered a gun to you, grip faced outwards and its safety cocked, you’d reject it.

For years you swore you would never trust someone who knew their way with guns; you would rather trust the devil. But then He gave you something to truly fear, and placed the firearm into your shaky and outstretched palm.

Never would you have expected it to be like wrapping your fingers around the hand of your best friend.

Life does that to you—forces you out of your protective cocoon and into a dozen or so fears for you to overcome. You can’t decide whether to be grateful for that or not. Your cocoon was perfect, wood smoothed like silk and just as flammable—barely, and that’s what made it flawless.

But you had to give it up and get used to the sound of gunshots splintering wood and metal bars; past wheeling cardboard with holes cut in the center. Your shot blasts effortlessly inside that ring, and then the next, and the last. Soon enough, you’ve shot at every last remaining target in the range.

You cock your rifle and count the ammunition, still enough left for more.

After changing the targets from harmless circles to generic civilian placeholders, you shuffle back into position and aim for the head.

“Come on, Ebbie. Don’t fail me now.”

_Bang! Bang!_

The recoil bites hard on your shoulder with each shot. Cursing under your breath, you shake the rifle in irritation. All this pain for so little payback; it’s barely worth it. You hastily reload and mow down the rest of the targets. 

“Woah. Who pissed off the black bull?” A voice much too familiar catches you off guard. You shift your head towards Jisung, a semi-recent friend and your ride-or-die. Truly, he’s earned that title, even with a broken faucet for a mouth. “And why you gotta take it out on Ol’ Ebony? What’d she do to you?”

Case in point.

“What are you doing here?”—At the shooting range. Anyone with a layer of consideration steers clear from the tattered building when gunshots are ringing—it’s just common courtesy. Practice needs a focused head, and releasing one’s anger requires no heads in sight.

Jisung, of course, probably counted the members in the house and heard your rifle, and did the exact opposite of common courtesy because that’s what he does. It’s how you both found yourself in this situation to begin with.

“Can’t a man admire the handiwork of a professional? Don’t be surprised you have admirers now. With the way your fingers move, you’ll be counting more in no time.” Jisung winks your way, a greasy smile stretched across his lips. With a roll of your eyes, you set your rifle down. “But really, Minho is rounding everyone up in the kitchen, so I came to bring your ass.”

“What for?” You attend to your usual routine of collecting fallen targets, locking up used guns, and brushing away broken shells; all while keeping an ear turned in Jisung’s direction.

“Probably to introduce the new kid,” he says, and he stands in his spot. He’s not in the least bit interested in helping you with the remains of your recreational ‘bullet time’(as he likes to call it). His older gun lays busted on its side near the backstage, courtesy of a silent decree: no one picks up after Jisung’s mess, unless you are Jisung. Jisung conveniently forgets the latter half.

You meet Jisung’s stature at the archway, to which he lazily slings an arm over your shoulders. He pulls you into his chest, muffling your bubbling question.

“The new kid?”

“Yep,” he says, “I’ll explain as I walk us to the cabin.”

-

You both step out of the shadows of an old, rickety building and into the warmth of an east-facing sun. It’s almost supper time, and you would assume Jisung would have gone to collect you even without a newcomer’s presence at this time.

He leads you further into the familiar outdoors. Its desert heat cools down as the sun sets, blanketing you with a sense of peace and nostalgia. A nostalgia for the near past. A time before your washed clothes would billow. A time before supper came at timed intervals.

A time to when land was the only thing that was. Before the buildings and before the wells, layers of earth would climb and descend in untraceable patterns. It wrapped around chaotically until it eventually opened up to dry terrain and a hopeful river.

You remember you crawled into the river with a bounty on your head and Jisung right behind you. You dipped your head and drank, lifting up when satisfied and cool and curious about where you lay. A single signpost, full of irony, read Glum River Canyon.

Time spent on the land revealed the true meaning behind its name. That measly river dribbles like a drizzle of rain—it’s simply unsustainable. But you and Jisung, two lowly runaways, made it sustainable.

You both made it completely yours. In no exaggeration, you can spot a fig out of place with how accustomed you are to this land. This familiarity has you jumping when you step into the gaze of a stoic mare.

You can count on no hands the number of horses you own, because that number is zero. You make a move towards it—

—Jisung tugs on your sleeve without sparing a look over his shoulder. He urges you across the dirt path leading to the lodge and recounts stories shared amongst the members about the young and puzzling newcomer.

“Woojin said he crossed the kid while on his usual path and said he looked unusually lost and quite haggard. So he brought him in. He came in earlier this morning. Which you would’ve noticed if you took one second to chat with the crew before making a beeline for the range.” he nudges your head, but really doesn’t mind. No one does. “He’s real cute.”

“I’m assuming y’all already made him feel at home by now?”

You both reach the sliding doors to the kitchen. An excited commotion already rumbles from beyond the threshold.

“Actually, I think that’s what Minho’s planning to do.” Jisung slides the door open and pushes you into the cacophony.

You squeeze your bodies into the tight space, peaking through the gaps to spot Minho sat at a table. A crimson boy stands at his side, pupils hidden behind a timid smile. The folks around you part and the host and guest of honor take notice of your presence.

“There’s my two lovebirds!” Minho hollers, a straw between his teeth. “took you long enough to get here! Can’t y’all go five minutes without sucking each other off?”

“We weren’t—”

“Now that everybody’s here, I’d like to acquaint you all to this handsome fella—mister Yang Jeongin!”

The room erupts in loud whoops. Jeongin bows his head to the crowd, toying with the strings on his belt. You follow in with your own muted claps, cheering patiently as the hype dies down.

Minho pats Jeongin on his shoulder, “Why don’t you formally introduce yourself to us, Jeongin?”

“Hello,” Jeongin sputters, growing redder by the second. He pauses once, clears his throat, and continues. “I’m Jeongin, an ex-coal miner, and I just rode in from Ragalley.”

“_Ragalley_?!” someone before you gawks, “that’s far!”

“Isn’t it? Jeongin’s one determined man,” Minho sports an impressive grin, “check this out: he made it all the way here on a stolen horse! Said he was tired of his seniors treating him like a kid so he swung the side of his pickaxe at his supervisor and stowed off on some poor man’s steed!”

Sounds of awe arouse in the spaces of the room, with claps of approval jumbled in. The red patches on Jeongin’s skin are even more apparent, exacerbated by his sheepish full-body blushes. You, too, feel the buddings of astonishment and newfound respect for him. The land between Glum River Canyon and Ragalley is bleak and hostile. A long stretch of thirst with no reward for miles. Most travelers wind up lost and burnt, as even the most prepared run out of supplies under the brutal sun.

Minho calls forth attention once again, a suspiciously elated lilt in his voice.

“Don’t worry about that, son. We’ll treat you like a man. And what better way of ringing in adulthood than with a bottle of booze or two?”

The thought of _‘but we have no booze’_ sounds in your head once. It’s dispelled quickly, however, when Minho turns his head to look at you. _Oh, no._

“I’ll be sending my two horniest bandits to get some. (Y/N) and Jisung!”

All eyes in the room turn to you. Jeongin looks shocked at his choice of words, darting his eyes this way and that. But all you do is roll your eyes as the room steadily breaks into applause—Jisung included.

—

The commotion in the kitchen eases up in favor of eating supper. Fingers dig into platters of fried dough and pulled pork, scooping up the remains of day-old custard.

It’s times like this when you come to treasure your little coterie. You may find your differences extreme, almost painful to deal with (it comes with the price of hanging around other criminals) but it all about feels worth it when you feed yourselves on the same plate; passing canteens around the table to whomever asks.

You all share the same life as bandits. Even though you don’t consider them your family, they are only a step of the way there.

“You want the rest of your succotash?” Woojin nudges you in your left arm, nodding towards your bowl of sweet corn and mixed vegetables. The table is already being cleared up by finished members, leaving only near-empty plates to be gobbled clean.

At this point, you’ve already decided you wanted to be left alone for the night with your thoughts. So you shrug off his question and stand.

The clinking and rattling of plates and wooden chairs dies down the moment you step out of the kitchen…and into the chest of someone else.

“O-oh, I’m sorry!” The honored newcomer from earlier catches you in his grip. He pulls back, anxiously attaching a name to your face before he speaks. “Ji-Jisung?”

You correct him. He apologizes.

“I-I didn’t ask for a celebration, just so you know. You don’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“Are you kidding?” Jeongin startles at your bristle response. You shift your tone to something more palatable. “This is just Minho’s way of sneakily getting me to snag some alcohol for him since he can’t be bothered to get up off his ass for once. Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy yourself when the night comes, okay?”

“O-okay,” Jeongin seems to struggle with continuing on the conversation. His fingers wriggle over his crossed arms.

You can think of a few ways to ease up the atmosphere, like asking _‘is that your horse? How did you survive the expedition? Is the lodge a safe enough haven?’ _Unfortunately, you are not one for small talk. Nor are you one to lighten any mood.

Jisung emerges from ‘round a corner. “Jeongin.”

“J-Jisung,” this time he’s sure of it. Fortunately, it’s enough of a cue for Jeongin to respectfully take a step back into the shadows of the lodge, leaving you two in the hall. Jisung nods fondly at his footsteps before turning to you.

He calls your name and presses a kiss to your temple. It makes your heart jump but does nothing for your mindful of fog.

You grab Jisung’s arm and lean into his ear, whispering “I’ll be in your room tonight,” before disappearing into the washrooms to collect your thoughts. 

—  


A dark night, a shrouded room, and single candle with an empty lantern—name a more perfect combination. Had it not been for at least one of those things, you would have knocked yourself clean on your face on the way to Jisung’s bed. Luckily, you didn’t.  


“We’re raiding the saloon in Thornpeak tomorrow,” you say monotonously. You drape yourself across Jisung’s sheets, laying next to him as he messily jots down notes over a sullied parchment paper that barely holds itself together. He stealthily scoots himself closer to you so that your shoulders touch.

“Yep. Recently opened by a man named Seo Changbin after receiving his family’s inheritance. A newbie at business, and supposedly the beer’s real good.” Jisung sets his paper down. “Thornpeak’s a pretty sound town from what I’ve heard. Few criminals, low surveillance.”

He looks you low in the eye at that and you both know the implication behind his words. This raid should be a piece of cake. But you fail to see the optimism. The meaning sits wrong inside you.

Jisung jerks you on the shoulder, shaking you out of the cloudiness in your eyes. He leans close. “You ‘ight, there?”

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly—though you’re not sure why. The candle wick flickers in his concerned gaze, but he opts to silently lie back on the frame. You can tell he wants to press for more.

Your head falls onto his shoulder. You breathe in his scent—woodsy with a hint of you—and ask, “are you nervous?”

“Nervous? For what? If we’re lucky, we might snag some fine cheese. I know that fella’s packing good stuff and it’s my personal mission to plunder that booty.” Jisung suppresses himself from chuckling at his own joke. He’s waiting on you to do the laughing first. When you don’t, he pushes forward. “He won’t miss it. Trust me. Rich guys barely miss a tooth.”

He expects a snort, a giggle, or even a scoff from you, but you’re silent in thought. Sucking in his breath, he shuts up and instead rubs a hand up and down your back. He lets the howl of the night carry the conversation for him.

You don’t consider yourself an emotional person; you sometimes struggle with dealing empathy. But tonight, the raid of tomorrow and its upcoming effects plague you. Thoughts of bowing out seem much more appealing.

“Jisung.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we’re bad people?”

Jisung stiffens. “Oh, (Y/N)…”

You can hear the judgment in his voice—a twang of incredulity and a twinge of disappointment. It makes you want to crawl underneath his blankets. But you were never one to back down from voicing your opinions. “I mean… we are about to rob a saloon bar. That’s not exactly righteous.”

The silence ensuing is uncomfortable. Closing your eyes, you hope for the worst. Jisung shuffles against you, sitting up and taking a deep breath.

“Ok, look. We may not be the most upstanding citizens but what are we supposed to do? Hand ourselves in so they can toy with us?” Jisung speaks with a confidence he rarely shows. “We are not good guys but the law has no interest in making a good person out of a felon. The law has no interest in listening to our side.”

He looks you in the eyes—past them, _into _them—and the pain of the past becomes more apparent. You are both a lost cause. No, neither of you have ever committed an inexcusable crime. Neither of you have blood on your hands. Nor does anyone in the lodge. You’d argue that the ‘crimes’ that turned you rogue were justifiable—and that’s not the bandit in you speaking.

It’s the victim.

“Broken factories create broken artifacts. And you know damn well we’re not going back to what broke us,” Jisung’s speech comes to a close, but he looks like he still has something on his mind. “It seems like you’ve already made up your mind on it, though.”

His words sting. Your gaze falls to your lap. He’s right. You can’t leave now. You’d end up in the exact same situation you had been before—lost, hungry, and hurt. Everything you do now will always be seen as criminal activity. Might as well commit to it.

Jisung’s palm comes to rest upon yours. He presses a kiss against the side of your temple.

”We’ve been through a lot together, so just know whatever you choose to do, I’ll be by your side.“

Any doubts on the loyalty of your partner-in-crime can officially be put to rest—not like you had any to begin with. With a smile, your press your lips to his. The ensuing silence finally becomes comfortable.

“Turn around.” He pipes up, disrupting the moment of peace of you laying your head on his chest. Much too tired to argue, you comply.

You’re thankful you did. Because the second he engulfs you in his arms and splays his fingers over the skin underneath your clothing, your worries dissolve into pure catharsis. You melt into the sheets and his body. He brings his face close to your neck and suckles the skin behind your ear.

His fingers make their slow crawl down to your core. He massages gentles circles and shapes against you. You lean into his touch, bringing your hand over his to hold more sturdily, and yourself against his palm. You sigh gleefully and Jisung follows, nibbling the shell of your ear.

Your eyes are still heavy with tiredness, and the added weight of lust and warmth does nothing to stop you from succumbing to sleep. Jisung doesn’t mind. He playfully pinches your thigh before freeing his hand from your drawers. He kisses you one last time for the night, brushes your hair, and whispers, “No matter what you think—you’re a better person than I could ever dream to be.“  


—

  
“We loot in the morning, when the business is mild.”

It’s already morning by the time you and your crew huddle over the kitchen table. The river catches the light of the still seated moon. You had to make time to plan, count time lost through venturing, and prepare your materials. Minho lists your necessities and orders Woojin and the others to fetch them. Jeongin offers his horse for the ride—

—“Molly’s a good one, though a bit skittish,” he hesitates, but ultimately hands you her reigns with a smile.

When the sun is high but the air is still cool, you climb into your vehicle.

“Make sure they don’t see you, or at least are too drunk to remember they did,” Minho shouts from the veranda. He then calls specifically for you, “Try not to start a fire!”

You roll your eyes. Jisung giggles. And just like that, Molly takes off.

The sun kicks up the heat as it races for the top of the sky. After hours of listening to Jisung’s whining about how sweaty he is, the outlines of a lively town make their appearance. The sound of rushing water from Thornpeak’s creek officially signifies your arrival. Shushing him, you steer the horse into the bushes just before reaching the entrance.

“We’re here,” you whisper. Jisung hops onto his knees in the wagon, ogling the view like a toddler. Once you jump into the wagon, he snaps into serious mode.

“Remember our plan,” Jisung fastens his knapsack. “Follow my lead and I’ll give you the signal to shoot. Make sure no one’s looking when you do.”

“Yes. Got it,”_ and by God_ you hope you don’t regret this. You hurry to fix your disguises—wide brimmed hats with bandanas tied ‘round your faces. Nothing too gaudy or too suspicious. Simple desert-wear. The sand sticking to your garbs will be enough to dispel any skepticism.

You inspect each other afterwards.

“Got Ol’ Ebbie?” Jisung asks. You expose the rifle tucked neatly under your ensemble. He nods approvingly. “Keep your eyes low.”

As expected, the creaky swing of the saloon doors alerts no one. It’s like stepping into the home of a popular friend, their living room just as lively as the saloon-goers of this very bar. You blend in seamlessly amongst the snacking regulars, day-time drunks, and the two drunkards plopping down tables apart after an intense game of darts. Jisung’s gaze snaps towards the injured one, who giddily chugs down a fresh beer mug while his opponent grovels.

Jisung meets your gaze and looks back towards the man. The edge of his bandana raises with the movement of his cheeks and, with a wink, he makes a beeline for the winning fellow.

You busy yourself with buying drinks with the pocket money Minho _‘so graciously gave you_’—not for yourself, of course—and keeping an ear centered on Jisung’s conversation.

“That fella over there’s lettin’ his friends know that he let you win out of pity,”

“Which fella?”

“That fella o’er there, with the orange chaps. Heard him bet that you’d blow your arm off before you would even make a shot.”

You make your way around the bar by offering drinks to the sober. You’re serving in the farthest corner when you hear the man’s voice belt out—

“What’s Jim blathering about?” The injured man stands, and catches the attention of his recuperating competitor. You can see the spittle as he affronts him with drunken vitriol. “Last time I checked you throw darts sloppier than my pig eats grule!”

Immediately, he charges. The room explodes with hoots and hollers when the dart players’ bodies collide. The saloon-goers rush to the fight—either to break them up or to egg them on.

Jisung turns to you, winks—and that’s when he gives you the signal.

You point your gun towards the ceiling. You aim. You fire.

The saloon-goers erupt in panic, spreading across the floors like flames. Jisung nods at you, and tightens his bandana. He lunges for the nearest target and knocks them out clean. He motions for you to join the chaos.

You stealth the walls of the saloon, butting the nose of your gun against the most sober of the bunch. They crumple to the ground in rows.

“Changbin!” The bartender screams and ducks underneath the bar before you could get a hit in.

The owner races down the steps of the deck and right into the brass knuckles of your fist. His eyes flash with pain and shock before he tumbles to the ground like the rest of his clients. Jisung runs up to you then, facial expression bright, like a child who just discovered a secret in the mines.

“I’ll handle upstairs!” You take the rest. Stealth isn’t needed anymore, not when all that’s left is bumbling drunks who can barely tell left from down. You deliver a few blows while keeping mindful of the bar’s entrance. If authorities enter soon your time will be done.

Just then, your partner hurls a wailing man out a window, a telltale splash detailing his doom. You wish you could shoot Jisung at this point and pause to simmer your anger—just when you thought you’d get through this without any casualties.

Soon enough, unconscious bodies are strewed across the floorboards. You’re left with double-checking the saloon for any more wide-eyed fake-outs. Jisung scrambles past you with a rucksack clinking with bottles.

“We got it,” Jisung confirms. He bolts for the wagon to secure proper packing. You give the bar one last sweep before leaving the saloon.

A resounding splash piques your attention and you turn your head towards the source. The creek dances with ripples and limbs making short reappearances. Another live witness. A small part of you cheers—at least he’s _alive_. But still, this won’t do.

You stand near the edges of the rocks.

Your victim crawls out of the frozen creek, knuckles crimson with blood and red loam. You cock your gun at him. You could almost feel the knots and aches in his neck as he struggles to look up at you, and then you meet his eyes–bloodshot, teary, and _familiar_.

Your mouth drops, your gun nearly following, but the shock tenses your muscles and your lips falter.

“_Chris_?”

The breezy air stills in that second, whipping his hair over his face. He stares at you on his elbows, legs still plunged in water and… _smiles_. He parts his lips to say something but a surge of water interrupts his words, spraying past his lips in violent coughs and dry heaves. he drops to his face immediately, eyes rolled back and face blue with icy suffocation.

—  


You meet back with Jisung with a dripping body over your shoulders. He expectedly looks at you with confusion, asking silent questions such as _‘what in the goddamn hell are you doing with that body?’_ Ignoring him, you load Chris into the back of the wagon and prepare yourself for a tiresome trip back.

—

_“Where’s the alcohol?”_ is the first on Minho’s priorities as he barrels over to your spot at the veranda. he spits out his straw when he refocuses on Chris dangling off your and Jisung’s shoulders, pointing an imperative finger at him while he looks you in the eye. “Who is this man?”

“I wish I knew—” starts Jisung.

“Injured.” You finish. You say nothing as Minho squints and quirks his brow at you, pleading a simple request through a visual language only his eyes can understand. He turns to Jisung, who’s pouty cheeks and all, and instructs him.

“Send him off to Woojin to fix him up,”

Jisung huffs and does what he’s told. When his body fades into the shadows of the cabin, Minho glides towards you and slaps a hand on your shoulder.

“You crazy bandit, you,” He’s at it again, mischievousness shining from his moon-crescent eyes. “Bringing home a hostage so Changbin can pay that sweet, sweet ransom. I like your line of thinking.”

“Huh?” You’re taken aback by his declaration. But, really, at this point you shouldn’t be surprised. “That’s… not what happened at all.”

“Well, what are ya doin’ standing out here for? Grab the booze, meet me in the kitchen, and let’s talk!”

—

“I thought I was the one in charge of making brash decisions,” Jisung grumbles. You take turns sealing and burrowing sacks of beer underneath rocks by the river to keep them cool. You suggested this first, eager for a moment of peace before you’d have to preach your very confused thought process in front of a crowd.

Instead, Jisung wants you to preach now instead of then—and to him and him only. He scoffs when you remain silent.

“I bet he’s got dibs on the last bottle, doesn’t he? I mean, who even is he?”

“He’s my old friend.” When you do speak, he looks unprepared, nearly dropping an unwrapped bottle into the river. “From Crow’s Rock.”

Jisung looks contemplative then. He definitely wasn’t expecting you to bring up your hometown. It’s been so long since you’ve talked about it and it’s rare when you do. He doesn’t know how to respond to it. “You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“Never thought he’d matter again,” you say. Packing the last bottle, you both stand and dust off the dirt on your pants. “Well, time to face the beasts and explain my side of things.”

—

Actually, there are no beasts to explain to. Since everybody’s busy with downing their first bottles of beer, they barely even notice you when you walk through the threshold. They spare a lazy glance at you, red-faced for all the wrong reasons.

“Who’s the hostage?” Someone asks.

“Yeah, he’s out cold, blue, and stiff,” responds Woojin, thankfully only slightly tipsy. “I drained his lungs and put him by the fire place. Hopefully he survives from whatever torture you put him through.”

Even though you _know _he doesn’t mean it, his words still bite with a hard-hitting truth to it. You suck in your breath and assess the commotion. Almost everyone’s got a beer in their hands. “Y’all are leaving Jeongin out on his own welcoming party?”

Jeongin jerks up. He holds out his hands and frantically shakes his head. “I-I can’t even drink—”

“Sure, you can,” Minho wraps an arm around his shoulder. “You wanted to be a man, didn’t you?”

“It’s fine if you don’t,” you pipe up. “I’m not feeling like drinking too much myself.”

Jeongin looks between you and Minho, battling between two advocates—Minho’s the Devil’s, of course. Eventually, with a sly grin, cheers start to swallow the room as he grabs the bottle out of Minho’s hand. You slip out of the room as conversations start to take place.

“Going somewhere?” Behind you, Jisung walks up with his own beer in his hand. He takes a swig. “It’s about him, right?”

Your eyes shift. “…Yeah.”

“You know you can always talk to me,” he comes up to you and wraps you up, leaning his chin on your head. You could smell the remains of today’s endeavor on skin and his clothing. It’s a scent that would normally lure you deeper into his embrace, but tonight it’s lost its effect. “I’ll always be here to give you last night’s treatment.”

He peppers kisses along your head and face, pulling back to give you one final kiss on the lips. You smile as he walks back into the kitchen. You go back to your room for tonight, sober, but under the influence of a listless and poignant mind.

—

The next morning, you expect to see Chris at the kitchen table, scoffing down whatever Minho and Jisung cooked up and chatting up a storm. He’d probably befriend everyone in here by now if he were here. But for some reason, he’s not.

You must look as dejected as you feel, because Jisung looks at you and says, “still out.”

You only notice him then, snapping your head towards him with a startled ‘_huh_?’

“Woojin said he might be out for the day. Best check on him tonight.”

“Oh,” you slide into the chair next to him, “…alright.”

He hums. “Woojin moved him to the far back bedroom.”

He bites into his salted fried dough, smacking his lips as he judges the solemnity in your face. He doesn’t call you out on it, nor does he stare at you for long. Instead, he offers you his plate and let’s you in on the morning babbles you always miss out on.

“We were thinking of showing Jeongin the ropes now that he’s with us,” he dusts off the crumbs. “Gonna sneak down to the rancher’s and snag some of his stock.”

He pauses.

“You should come with us.” He grins. “Just for old time’s sake.”

—

Jeongin dives inside a stack of hay at the sound of a creak, urgently calling out for the rest of the crew to follow. His hands flap wildly when he sees you continue looting at a leisurely pace. “Did you guys not hear that? The farmer’s coming!”

He ducks his head when another creak follows.

“No one’s coming, Jeongin,” you reassure. “It was probably just Jisung and Minho.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well for one, they are both tossing bags of fertilizer at each other like a pack of wild monkeys.”

An open bag slides out of Minho’s grip from above. Clumps of dirt and manure rains over the bottom floor in messy thumps. Jeongin instantly screams from his spot, to which Woojin quickly shushes.

“Sorry!” Minho giggles. His footsteps race from one side of the ceiling, and the sound of heavy bags colliding continues. Jeongin quietly climbs out of the stack.

“I thought we had to be secretive and stealthy?” He’s obviously confused by the upper level’s boys’ antics. He cautiously looks out of the barn’s window, and repeatedly checks the front door for any intrusion. His troubled alertness is so cute, you can’t help but smile.

“It’s okay, Jeongin. We’re _fine_. We wouldn’t have brought you here if we thought there’d be real danger. We’re not trying to give you a heart attack on your third day here.” You stuff a brush and a saddle into your gunny sack, then turn to Jeongin with a horseshoe in your grasp. “Think of molly—just grab what she needs.”

“So the farmer won’t be here soon?” He ignores your advice and skips back to the man of his anxiety.

“Contrary to popular belief,” yells Jisung. “We may be criminals but we don’t revel in doing people injustice—I mean, unless you’re Minho. It’s either steal what we need to survive or get publicly executed.”

“Exactly,” Woojin hauls a block of fodder and loads it into a wheelbarrow. “Trust me. Whether you want to steal from ranchers or not is a question of morals, not survival.”

“Buuut,” Minho drawls, his voice bouncing on the wooden walls. “That also means we can live a little. I mean, listen, the law convicts you of whatever a witness accuses you of—long as you don’t make it obvious. Prisons are so shit here, if you go in for one crime might as well make it twenty.”  
Minho climbs down the ladder from the top floor and lands directly next to Jeongin. He gives him a look—you know that look.

“Minho, please stop corrupting the poor boy,” you say. He shoots you a different look, eyebrow raised and a straw placed neatly between his exposed teeth.

Jeongin looks up at him with young and eager eyes. It’s official, he’s a goner.

“This can go several ways….”  


-

The farmer arrives by late noon.

You’ve already made several trips back to the lodge after snatching some of his materials. You’d prefer that be the last of your trip, but Minho was determined to let his plan come to fruition. You all—minus Jeongin—wait behind a fence at the top of a hill.

Jeongin sits patiently near the stables when he arrives. The farmer cocks his head at him, confused but unsuspecting.

Jeongin approaches the farmer, nervous in his step. He plays the part perfectly, probably because he isn’t acting at all. He flashes the man a timid smile.

“I’m sorry to intrude but I desperately need help. I’ve been lost in the desert for days,” He peels back his collar, exposing the still healing pink patches of skin, then continues. “Please be kind enough to offer me a bed to stay the night and a remedy.”

The farmer looks at Jeongin with pity. He lays a hand on his shoulder and nods.

“You poor thing. Where’d you ride in from? Tell me all about it as I settle myself in first.” He unlocks the door to his house and walks back towards Jeongin. “

At that, Jeongin gives the signal. Minho lifts the whip he’s held in his hand and cracks it in the air.

Molly immediately bucks and dashes forward. She gallops for the farmer and knocks him against the stables’ fences. Wood and splinters fly in the air as Molly races through the broken-fenced area. After Jeongin confirms that the farmer lays unconscious, he calls for you to leave your hiding place.

Inside, you all race for the farmer’s luxuries. You pack shoes and clean clothes into your bag while the others gather snacks and handmade jewelry. When you’ve each gathered what you wanted, you leave the farmer’s house and make for the hills. The entire time is filled with shared laughter and lighthearted pushing.

“Wasn’t that easy?” Minho pats a calmed Molly after retrieving her and commending her for her rampage. “Was it morally correct? Nah, but then I remember that love—_love_—is illegal, so I can rest easy.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Woojin raises a piece of bread in agreement.

“Let’s not forget plants. They criminalize _plants_,” Jisung adds incredulously. 

Jeongin giggles mirthfully, like he hasn’t a care in the world. “Honestly, this is amazing. We went from talking about bestiality to cannabis in a two minute conversation! Such talks didn’t happen back in the mines, I didn’t know what I was missing. ”

“Really don’t think he was talking about bestiality, Jeongin.”  


—  


You’d almost forgot about Chris’ condition when the moon rises. You would have gone to bed not knowing too if it weren’t for Woojin checking his watch and making his announcement.

“He should be awake by now.” Your chest freezes. The room’s conversations dwindle only slightly, continuing enough to drown you in them. Woojin walks right up to you and hands you a small porcelain cup. “If he is, give him this tea—”

“I’d wager alcohol’s better for that poor guy—help him forget how he got here and warm him up enough to survive the night,” someone else immediately cuts Woojin off. You’re not ashamed to say you’re relived.

“Nah, the booze’s mine,” Jisung quips, “forget him. _I’m_ the one who needs to forget dragging his ass all the way here.“

“Hey, think we can make him forget about his life up until now so that he’d do our runs for us? You know, convert him onto our side?”

The conversation easily swings onto Minho’s strange proposition. Sometimes, you wonder why you fret so much over their judgments on you. They’ve all made questionable decisions—it’s what brought you all together. They’re your mates. They don’t care.

Woojin softly calls your name and gently places the cup in your hands. With a placid smile on his face, he sends you off.

Now, you may have gotten over your anxiety when it comes to your cabinmates’ perception of you, but that doesn’t mean you’re fearless when it comes to Chris himself. In front of his door, you inhale the scent of mossy earth and aged wood, and exhale to the point your lungs hurt.

Chris probably has heard the wood creak already, so he must be expecting your entrance. Without further delay, you enter.

In the dark room, the flicker of a candle is the only thing that illuminates Chris’ face. You don’t turn towards him, you stare at him staring at you through the corner of your eye while your stomach churns. You count beats in your head to the raindrops trickling from the leaky roof. Timing your presence here—_thirteen drops, fourteen drops, fifteen drops._ You won’t stay past twenty.

You almost successfully place his tea on his table when he calls out your name.

“Is that really you?” You reckon if you keep your back towards him he’d assume no. “Talk to me.”

His bed sheets rustle with movement. _Oh, God._ The beat in your head is drowned out by the beat of your heart, so you count that instead. It’s quiet (as long as he can’t hear your chest) and you’re not sure why you’re standing in this spot when he hadn’t made a move towards you since.

“Why did you run away?” Once he does speak, you’re pretty sure you just suffered a heart attack. Still, you only came here to give him tea—_isn’t he thirsty?_—not stay and chat.

“Chris, it’s too late for this conversation. You’re literally freezing.“ You’re shocked how natural it felt to say that—years of scolding Jisung, you figure. You had expected to stumble, mumble, maybe tumble on the way out once you’ve realized what a dunce you are.

"No, this is the only chance for me to have this conversation so I will.” Chris doesn’t miss a beat. His voice trembles from dehydration, maybe disuse, but he speaks with the strongest tone he can muster. “Tell me, why’d you run? When we promised each other we’d be by each other’s side. you left when you were most vulnerable. I thought we had trust.”

You wish you could crawl into a ball and disappear. This conversation is what you spent years putting off, running away from. And yet, like everything Chris-related, it still came back to taunt you.

You spent your entire childhood with Chris—a trust established in diapers. But a night of second-guessing happened, and it burnt like the rest of your bridges. You ruined it, but you won’t pretend like you deserve it back. You try to tip-toe around your mistakes.

“We do have trust,“ or at least did, ”what I don’t trust is the law.“

The legal system is what fucked you over. God, you wish you never needed to run away from Chris, but the law is what pushed you. You were convicted of setting fire to a civilian’s house—a crime you never committed. But it doesn’t matter now, since you officially have several tacked under your belt. You’re wanted no matter which side you take.

It’s unfortunate. And God, does it hurt to admit that.

“Chris, we were both civilians. We stood no chance battling against police and detectives who had already made up their minds.”

"Again. You should have trusted me. I could’ve helped you convince them that you’re innocent. But you ran away before I could.”

“You can’t convince them!” You just about explode. It’s that optimism, those hero envisions that Chris always chased that tired you since the start of your accusation. No matter what he suggests, you know you would have taken the place of a criminal in jail. It’s the cold hard truth. “You can’t change the law’s mind when it’s already prepared its sentence. Whether I was innocent or not wouldn’t have changed a thing. You need to accept that.”

And just like that, your night’s ruined. Chris looks at you like you’ve stepped on his dreams and, _yeah_, you did.

With tears in your eyes, you stumble out of his room. Though even after all this, you carried respect for him. He hadn’t given up on you years after you’d already given up on yourself. So you quickly poke your head into his room—“Good night. Rest well.”—and run for yours. 

—

You dread the next morning.

Mind still fogged with sleep, this time you almost don’t notice Chris sitting at the kitchen table. He delves happily into grainy bread and gulps down unpasteurized milk. The sight snaps you out of your haze and into something more visceral.

The sight is so familiar, and much too nostalgic for your tastes. You feel immensely homesick, yet you stand inside the only place you’d consider home.

Chris spots you in the doorway and pauses. The argument of last night still rings loudly in your ears—you wonder if it’s the same for him._ Almost assuredly. _The real question is if he’s as mad as he should be right now. He looks it, that is, until his dimples make their grand appearance. He waves a piece of bread your way as in to say _‘come in! come eat!’_

Suddenly, doing such an activity feels foreign. You don’t react—_you can’t react._

Woojin spots you next, and curiously asks: “Aren’t you coming to eat?”

They both look expectantly at you. Despite the hunger pangs in your stomach, you turn them down. Eating in front of Chris now would only make you more sick—probably sicker than him. You lie through your teeth. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

—

You spend the rest of the day feeling utterly embarrassed. Chris was never one to hold grudges; the complete opposite of you. He is always the bigger person, and it hurts to see such growth from him while it feels like you’ve regressed.

Throughout the days, Chris fits in comfortably with your crew. And as he does, you grow unfamiliar. 

—

“So why’d you take me here again?”

Jisung fiddles with the fringe on his jacket. The spurs on his boots jingle as he taps them against the floorboards. Seems like Jisung take a day off from his regular goofiness this evening.

“Well,” he starts, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “You’ve been… off lately.”

“Oh.” His revelation does not shock you. Despite how stoic you may seem to outsiders, you are actually quite obvious to read. You don’t make it a point to hide your emotions.

“Yeah,” Jisung looks up then. He flips a lopsided smile, eyes glimmering with genuine worry. “Do you want to… talk about it? Or—would you rather ride that bull instead, both are fine with me!”

His voice jumps with every syllable. He sighs when he sees you crack a smile back at him.

“Why not both?”

You hop onto the animatronic and wait for Jisung’s affirmation. When he adjusts the leverage the bull whirs to life.

“Chris is making me question my standing again,” you sigh. You gently rock against the machine, a mindless activity for now. “I ran away from him because I knew the law was too big of an evil to defeat. He still believes I’m innocent, that I deserve a proper life after all this…”

“What? Don’t think he can bail you out?”

“It’s not that,” you hesitate. As far as Jisung knows, you’re still a runaway arsonist. Basically what the law considers you and what you’ve accepted onto yourself. No one knows about your case. It’s only you and Chris. “Look—”

The bull starts bucking significantly harder. When you turn to shoot Jisung a glare, he hides his face with the rim of his hat. But even so, you spot the whites of his teeth peaking out from underneath.

“So, that’s how we’re gonna do it, huh?” You shout. The whirs and whines of the bull nearly drown you out, but you spoke loud enough for Jisung to jerk his head back. “Why don’t we turn it up a notch?”

“A-are you sure?”

“Give me your worst.”

You fling your hat at Jisung, who elatedly laughs as he catches it. He starts cheering for you as he switches the levers this way and that, pushing and pulling you with each swivel of the bull. He makes a sound of astonishment when he sees you grip on with ease. You pull off the bandana wrapped around your neck and toss it at him next.

“Are you seriously still going at it?!” Jisung gapes. “We don’t call you the black bull for nothing.”

That’s when you spot a figure standing near the doorway. Chris faces you with his arms crossed over his chest, donning a solemn yet reassured expression.The sight throws you off the bull.

“Are you okay?!” Jisung rushes to your side, oblivious to the man looming behind him.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. Chris has to hide his laughing behind his hand. When he sees you noticed him, he offers a kind smile—wholly unfamiliar and entirely painful, unbeknownst to him—and waves. He looks contemplative for a moment’s time, and then leaves entirely.

How ominous. 

—

When the night falls and your body aches in the joints, you look forward to throwing yourself in your bed. You’re stopped dead in your tracks when Chris walks up to you as you approached your door. He reaches a hand for your should but stops short in the air.

You don’t say anything, instead just wait as he seems to be gathering his thoughts.

“Look. You were right. Back then wasn’t the right time to talk about back home. I’m sorry.”

You make no effort to hide your gasp. You can’t believe he’s the one apologizing after what you’ve put him through all these years.

“No._ I’m sorry_. I ran away because I was scared of what would happened to me and I left you behind in the dark.” You find yourself pouring out your regrets. “And then what happened at the saloon! I _really _didn’t mean for anyone to get injured, especially not you!”

“All’s forgiven,” Chris chuckles. “After all, you did save me.”

An awkward silence hangs for a beat.

“You know I’ve never stopped worrying about you?” Chris says. He looks you up and down, tracing over your skin, but his gaze burns deeper than the longer he looks at you. He exhales in relieve. “I’m so glad you’re safe. Even if I don’t approve of your….social circle.”

Your stomach drops at that. Chris notices your discomfort but with his strong sense of virtues, he pushes on.

“(Y/N), you’re with bandits—actual criminals. Do you think that this is any better than a safe life back home?”

“It’s just as safe as home, because this is my home. I may be innocent when it comes to my charges, but I’m guilty of others,” you level your eyes with Chris’, staring straight into a walking contradiction. He’s a man who’s so devoted to justice, and yet he fails to look at you fairly. “Whether you like it or not, Chris, I am a criminal. I belong with the bandits.”

He visibly deflates. “Sadly. I just want to know…how bad…?”

His implication rubs you the wrong way, but you know he doesn’t mean it like that.

“It’s up to you to judge. We’re no murderers, or kidnappers, or anything,” you’re not sure you’d ever be able to live up to such offenses. “We just want to survive and have fun at it like the rest of you do. I don’t want to go back to being holed up in Crow’s Rock or the towns in between. It’s miserable.”

Your voice grows more aggressive as you recall the nights slept under wet leaves and the days spent hidden in shadows and hungry.

Chan raises his hands and steps closer, his body warming the tight space between you. He’s gone completely silent, listening carefully to the words you have to say with a face heavy with pity. When you’re done, he pulls your hands into his. His eyes read different emotions, like he’s finally gotten the full picture and desperately wishes to unearth the hidden message behind the bent edges and ragged woodframe.

“I understand,” he says gently. His breath fans over your face in a welcoming breeze. It draws you closer to him, further into his outstretched arms.

“I don’t want our relationship to be ruined after this. I spent my whole life thinking about you, and I won’t stop until I die. I’m willing to forget our past differences if it means I won’t have to lose you again. Are you willing to forget, too?”

He looks and sounds hopeful. He looks at you completely smitten. Much like him, you don’t think you’ll ever stop thinking about his selflessness, or his values that goes against your very being. And much like him, you’re much too deprived of his presence to reject him.

You pull him into a hug. “Yes.”

He immediately envelopes you.

“I’m glad,” he presses a kiss on your head, pulling back to fully soak in your appearance. “Good night.”

After the conversation, you feel your old friendship blossoming from underneath its degraded soil. You don’t avoid speaking with Chris anymore. Some mornings, you head straight for him once you wake up. He integrates nicely into your cabinmates.

It finally feels like family. 

—  


Nights later, after a hefty late-night’s meal, Minho unpacks a bottle of beer and passes it around the table. You all take a long swig, except for Chris, who taps you on the shoulder and motions for the hallway.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” you cautiously lean against a wall.

“I’m not sure if they told you yet, but tomorrow we’re heading back to Changbin’s,”

“What, why?” Once again, Chris shocks you with an unexpected reveal

Chris chuckles. “Don’t get me wrong, I am terribly thankful you saved my ass in the creek. But I think you may have forgotten my friends were there too, and I have no idea what their conditions are. I’d like to see if they’re at least as safe as I am right now.”

A wave of guilt takes over you. He must’ve detected it because then he says, “again—_and I cannot stress this enough_—thank you for saving me. I know they won’t be injured as bad as I was, but it doesn’t hurt to check.”

“You’re right,” you say, and then whisper, “and it was no problem. I’d do it again for you…”

The last part comes out barely a breath, so quiet you’re not sure he heard it—you hope he didn’t. But then his thick lips curl into a subtle smile, and your cheeks heat up. He doesn’t say anything about it, only nods his head and clasp his hands together. “Alright, then. Good night.”

He leans in close, the gesture almost too familiar for your kind of relationship. His earthy smell is strong, untainted by the scent of alcohol. When you move to lean in, he goes straight to your ear, whispering, “See you in the morning,” and bounds to close his door shut behind him.

The desert night ends up feeling colder than usual.

-

You wake up to the sound of rowdy men loading the wagon. When you exist the lodge, several of your mates have already climbed in. Minho hops on top of Molly and urges you to take a seat.

The ride back to Thornpeak involves stale bread crumbs and exaggerating storytelling. Jisung sits across from you while Chris sits next to you. When he’s done telling Woojin a conspiracy on how kangaroos are actually native to America, you pat him on the shoulder to grab his attention.

“Did Jisung ever apologize to you for tossing you out the window?” Chris turns his gaze to Jisung, biting into his bottom lip with a cheeky grin.

“No.”

Jisung pouts and immediately throws himself at your feet. He pounds weakly on your knees, burrowing his face in your thighs in half-fake despair. “Don’t make me do it.”

You giggle at his dramatics. “I can’t hear you. Take your face off of my legs.”

He looks up at you then, eyes glimmering with crocodile tears. His quivering lips and rotund cheeks amount to nothing, as per usual. With a warm hand pressed against his hair, you turn to Chris and give a friendly shrug.

“Forgive him. He’s still learning his manners. Old habits are hard to break when you’ve been stealing nuts from squirrels your whole life.”

“Hey!”

A piercing whistle catches your attention, it catches all of the wagon’s attention, in fact. A young man, no older than Jisung himself, is mounted on a horse. He wears the traditional uniform of a lawman—apache scarf tied around his neck, khaki trousers with gun holster, fitted shirt and most importantly, a badge. He kicks his horse and ventures closer. Your heart surges in your chest.

“Ay, that’s just felix—the park ranger in training. Hey, Felix!” Jeongin waves over the approaching man.

A calloused hand runs over the length of your thigh, digging into the place closest to your knee. You jump in your seat when the hand squeezes tight. Your blood pulses in your ears as Jisung presses against your side. He leans into your ear, “I’ll nick you with my teeth for that later.”

Felix gallops next to the wagon, peering inside to survey your equipment.

“You’re trudging on federal property.”

“Oh, lighten up! You can sit this one out, we’re literally headed to clean up our portion of the environment.”

Felix raises his eyebrows. “Isn’t your portion in the opposite direction?”

“Well, Seungmin is doing his rounds there so we decided to spread out a bit.”

Felix looks up and seems to study your group with new eyes. He pauses, searches around for a bit and turns back to Jeongin with a raised brow. “So you left the mines to join banditry?”

Jeongin recoils as if he’s just remembered the group he’s hung out with. He guilty looks arounds at you, before setting his gaze back at Felix. “Yes.”

“You know there’s a bounty on your head I could collect at any moment, right?” Felix’s hands slowly travel to the gun in his holster. Everyone stiffens. “This isn’t like you. What you did to Mark and Sir Park is a serious offense, but they’re willing to forgive you.”

Felix looks back towards Minho, and points at him in disbelief. His face is tight with exasperation as he stares down Jeongin. “Is that Molly?”

Jeongin stays silent.

“Jeongin, the mines need you,” Felix looks like he’s at his wits end. He pleads for Jeongin to jump from this wagon with all his might. “Everybody’s been willing to overlook this whole thing. You can come back. We will help—”

“I’m not going back!” screams Jeongin. He startles about every person in the wagon. Even Molly shies away from the noise. “I left for a reason. You guys can barely respect my autonomy yet you expect me to risk my life for less than a dime. How much is my bounty? It’s probably higher than what I’d ever make in a lifetime, isn’t it?”

Jeongin’s eyes burn with distaste, it takes you all for a surprise. It definitely shocks Felix the most, though, as he forces his horse to take several steps back. His hand shakily hovers over his gun.

“You wouldn’t dare,” tries Jeongin. He turns his back and slides back against the inside of the wagon. “Leave us, Felix. Let’s go, guys.”

Minho hesitates for a second, eyeing the stunned park ranger, before willing Molly to move.

“That’s a depressing thought,” says Chris after a moment’s silence.

“What is?”

“That someone close to you would sacrifice you for a quick buck,”

“Hey, a pretty penny is a beauty to marvel at, so I don’t blame ‘em.”

Chris shrugs his shoulders, shuffling awkwardly in his seat. It’s obvious the notion doesn’t sit well with him. “I would never do that to you, just so you know.”

“I know,”

—  


You arrive at Thornpeak for a second time.

Minho leads the horse to the creek, while the rest disperse in search of either mayhem or civility—it’s a toss up. Jisung sticks close to you, while you also keep close to Chris.

“Where to now?”

“To Changbin’s, of course,” he leads you back to the front of the saloon, and the dread has you wishing you had worn your old disguise. Before he could open the door, a small young man comes rushing for him.

“Chris! Are you okay?! Where were you?“ It’s the same man who called for the owner behind the bar. He shows no sigh of injury, yet. Chris notices, too, because he pulls the man into a tight hug with a relieved sigh.

“Glad you’re okay,”

When they pull back, the man looks at you, finally noticing, and narrows his eyes. “Who are these folks?”

Chris looks to you for assistance, asking the silent question of ‘should I tell them?’ You shake your head and he complies.

"They’re fine, Hyunjin. They were caught in the crossfire too, and they rescued me.”

“Oh, thank God,” he practically sobs as he reaches for your hand. He gives you a firm shake. “Hwang Hyunjin.”

Jisung reaches for his hand next and stiffens, “…Dune,” and winces,“Lawrence,” and flinches, “Sung…ji?”

Hyunjin gives him a puzzled look and turns to you. You wave Jisung off and reveal your name properly. Jisung winces when you throw him a stern look. He throws his hands up when Hyunjin’s back is turned. “I’m confused. Are we undercover or not? I forgot how to talk to outsiders.”

“How’s Changbin and them? No one’s hurt?” Chris tosses an arm across Hyunjin’s shoulders affectionately.

“Nah, we’re all good thankfully. His bar’s a wreck and he’s been scraping the bottom of barrels to repair it,”

Chris’ face falls. “Why? Does he not have the money for it?”

Hyunjin looks down at his boots. “No, they pillaged every last thing of his. The booze was expensive and he’s spent every last penny on them. Never mind the fact that they’ve stolen his precious jewelry and valuables.“

Chris looks pointedly at you, and you mime that you have no idea what he’s talking about. You both turn to Jisung, who guiltily shrugs his shoulders and mouths, _‘I’ve still got it.’_

"He’s real burdened. But he’s less bothered by the money and more about your disappearance.” Hyunjin brightens up again. “Thank God you’re back, and you two—thank you so much for saving him. Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Ay, no problem.” Jisung shrugs. “Chris was banged up real good, its all thanks to (Y/N)—they’re the true martyr.” he glances at you with a twinkle in his eye. His public praise has got you burning up, and you hide your face within your hand. Chris smiles and ruffles your head.

Hyunjin nods enthusiastically at you. “Ok well, come and join me for supper. I’d bet the whole towns eager to see your return. it’ll be a whole feast.”  
-

Your crew eventually congregates by the time supper starts.

The room is packed with Chris’ closest friends and neighbors. You finally meet with Seo Changbin himself. He looks ganglier than you remember, though you don’t remember much. He greets you with a warm smile and a firm handshake.

“Thank you for bringing Chris back. It means so much,”

“So is Chris a popular fellow, or somethin’?” Jisung asks, pulling up a seat next to you. You shrug your shoulders.

“I’d expect so, with his charm,”

The supper goes on about as awkward as expected. Conversation is light, though part of it could be contributed to the meals. Every chef, baker, and housewife brought something to the table and it makes you wonder how tight-knit of a community Thornpeak is. Crow’s Rock was never this benevolent.

Guess you can assume that’s why Chris left.

You’re brought back to the present when you hear Changbin prodding Chris from across the table.

“So now that you’re back, are you thinkin’ about keeping your new friends here with us? This small town needs as many people as it can get,“

”Oh, we’re not staying,“ Woojin pipes up. The table immediately rumbles with quiet gossip. You can see the visual disappointment in Changbin’s face.

“Aw, you’re leaving? Brought so many of you, I just thought… well, at least Chris is back! It felt like a tragedy struck us when you went missing,”

“Agreed,” Hyunjin says. “Although you’re all welcome to stay in the inn, we’re really grateful

Chan hesitates. The quiet gossiping transforms into full-blown conspiracies.

"I…” Chan looks at you in a mixture of pain and confusion.

Jisung notices it too, nudging you in the side with his elbow. “Don’t tell me he’s seriously considering to leave his friends for us”

“I don’t know,” you’re just as shocked and confused. “I don’t know why he would.”

jisung’s silent for a while. “I know why…”

“I’m gonna—,” Chris ducks his head, hiding his expression from the folks around the table. It’s awkward and obvious that he’s thinking of his next choice of words. When he comes up, he looks straight at Hyunjin and Changbin. "I’ll visit you guys soon.“

"Huh?” Hyunjin gasps, the rest of the table following suit. “You’re leaving us? For them—honestly,_ who are you?_”

The peace of the table is official gone, now descending into chaos. Wails and insults are thrown while chairs and porcelain plates clatter. The ruckus has you panicking. You’ve already grabbed Jisung’s hand to race out of the room when Changbin calls your name.

He brings everyone’s attention forth as he says it once more, though this time softer. “They’re the friend Chris is trying to clear.”

Suddenly, it’s like everyone in the room knows who you are. They all look to you with childlike intrigue, like a fabled legend has just proven itself as reality. They whisper amongst themselves and a silent understanding rings throughout the room.

Jisung, however, is entirely bewildered. He turns to you with wild eyes. “Clear?”

“It’s you. Chris talked about you. A lot. it makes sense now.”

“_How did you…?_” you start to question.

Changbin cracks a small smile, looking towards a guilty Chris with a fond expression. “Chan can’t hide his secrets from me.”

“Well, he needs to stop hiding secrets from me!” Hyunjin barrels over to Chris and grabs him by the collar of his shirt. “Did you plan this? Were you in on Changbin’s raid?”

“No!” You grab Hyunjin’s fists and try to pry them off Chris’ shirt. “It was all—”

“We were worried for you!” Hyunjin screeches. The room erupts with combined fear and concern. Hyunjin pays them no mind—he can barely hear them over his rage. “And you were out mingling with rogues all this time!?”

“Stop it, Hyunjin,” Changbin chastises him to no result. Hyunjin is practically deaf to the world.  


He leans in closer, till his nose barely touches Chris’, and says in a low voice. “It that’s how it’ll be, why don’t you just join a criminal ring instead?”  


He’s separated then, and manhandled by the people in the room. Chris says nothing, only blankly staring at spot Hyunjin had stood.

Hyunjin huffs angrily in Chris’ direction, shoving Changbin away as he exits the room. Some folks follow after him, slowly draining the dining room of its inhabitants.  


Guilt consumes you, and lean against Jisung as the room diffuses. Changbin comes up to you and presses a hand upon your shoulder.

“It’d probably be best if you leave,” he says solemnly. “Don’t take it personally. Everyone’s just shocked.”  


You nod your head as if to agree, but inside you know the situation couldn’t possible get any more personal than it already is. Jisung draws you close. 

“You can still spend the night here, just be sure to leave by next morning,”  


The ordeal has left you feeling dirty. Before you could hold yourself back, you ask Changbin to use his bathhouse. You knock yourself on the head immediately after your request, but Changbin only chuckles.

“Yeah, sure go ahead. Our bath house is in the back.”

—  


You turn a pail of boiling water into a larger wooden tub. The water hits the bottom with a loud gush, drowning the sounds of your thoughts and the noises around you. For a moment, you find yourself comforted by the steam. For now, it’s only you and a blanket of heat in the middle of a isolated shack. 

Suddenly, hands press over your stomach as naked arms wrap you in their embrace. You feel something sharp and wet dig into the skin on your shoulder.

“Ouch!”  


“Sorry,” Jisung laps his tongue over his bite. “I told you I will, didn’t I?”  


“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and run your hands over the tub’s water, ignoring as Jisung presses himself against your back. He drags his teeth over neck and brings his hands closer to your chest.   


“Stop ignoring me,” he whines. You betray yourself by giggling, easily letting Jisung pull you into his arms and have his way with you. 

He lays you on your back and crawls over your form. He plants kisses from your neck and slowly makes his travel downward. He sinks in his teeth at random, giggling to himself each time you catch yourself jerking.

Jisung’s thumbs roll over your wet nipples, pinching them between his fingers. The pent up steam makes his lips slick, and they glide over your body in careless motions. 

It’s not to say you’re unaffected by his actions, but your mind is struggling from moving on from earlier’s disaster. You push him off absentmindedly just as his lips reach your sweet spot.

He relents immediately, pulling up to lay beside you as if he’s read your mind. He smooths the hair on your head and starts to ask you questions first. Fair.

“Tonight’s feast fell pretty flat, didn’t it?” He starts off inoffensively, twirling single strands of your hair as he builds up to his main concern. You’re starting to suspect this is the real reason he decided to sneak up on you in the bath house. To find a different form of intimacy. “A lot of stuff happened—a lot of _unexplained _stuff.”

Your stomach plummets, but you swallow down your guilt to hear him out. This isn’t about you for once.

He hesitantly whispers Chris’ name. “He’s said a lot of confusing things, and he acts pretty confusing, too. I mean—” He looks at you quickly to check your reaction. You try to keep yourself stoic, though your heart breaks at how much he struggles pouring out to you. “He’s so easily swayed by you, not like I blame him but—”

“I’m not a convicted arsonist.”  


“W-what?” Jisung pulls back from you. His eyes are blown wide, and his fingers curl up as if he were burned.

“Well, maybe I _am _but,” you take his hand is yours, stiff and jittery with the anticipation of your impending reveal. You’re about to break the very foundation your relationship was built on. You mentally curse yourself. It’s seems all you’re good at doing is failing at your own scams. “I have never set fire to anyone’s building. I have never been banished from my hometown and I have no one to avenge.”  


Jisung eyes well up with tears as he snatches his hand from you. He curtly stands up and brushes them away before grabbing his towel. He can barely hide the betrayal and disgust on his face as he turns to leave you behind in the shack. 

Unlike you, Jisung has been convicted of crime, a petty crime, and was forced to escape for his life. You lied to him on your very first encounter to get his trust. You’ve built a bond based on a false shared experience. 

It’s lasted for years. And it would’ve lasted for longer if it weren’t for Chris’ reappearance. You wonder to yourself how long would that lie have last?

Ultimately, it doesn’t not matter. It’s all the same in the end. You’ve broken and built relationships on misguided trust.

Everyone loses.

—  


In the early morning, you leave the inn to catch some fresh air before you’d have to depart. 

You see him before you hear him. Somber music rings in every direction. 

Chris plays the banjo on the front steps of Changbin’s saloon. The morning atmosphere reflects off its strings, bouncing beautifully with every flick of his finger. You don’t want to bother yourself with thoughts of travel this early in the morning, so you sit down beside him and listen to the melody.   


He flits the chords a few more times before stopping and sitting the instrument on his lap. He turns to you, mulling a bit, before speaking the words you absolutely _did not_ want to hear. “I can help you beat the case.”

You sigh, roughing rubbing your hands over your face. “This again?”

“I know, _I know_ you’re tired of me bringing this up,” he says, “but the case is possible to turn around.”  


“It’s been years, Chris. I’ve already been deemed guilty, it’s no use—”  


“What if we had proof?”  


You stiffen. Slowly, you turn to look Chris in the eye. “What proof?”

“I found something when you left. This case is not over. You can win your life back.”

**Author's Note:**

> To the 5 people who mightve made it this far THANK YOU!! please give me your feedback ESP THIS which is what ive been wondering the whole time ive been typing this: do you prefer me calling bang chan chris or chan? and are you fine with the story being gender neutral or would you rather me use gendered pronouns?? lemme know so the next chapter is higher quality!!
> 
> This was my first time writing for stray kids and ive gotta say it was fun!! there will be four chapters to this (the time they come out depending on the reception each chapter gets) and youll be getting a lot more jisung/chris alone time in those chapters. The very last chapter is like… totally up to yall as well ngl if the time comes ill have you guys vote on who’s the last pairing 👁👄👁 jisung/reader chan/reader oooorrrrrrr……. Jisung/reader/chan oH SHIT


End file.
